When life’s no more than each breath we take,
Than the days and nights that we call the past,
Do we carry these corpses with us till the end A
As we do the remains of a sumptuous repast?

What an awfully, thin line between life and demise,
Much as there is between truth and lies,
And just a tiny bit of a drooping lid,
Between, those that see and the blind eyes.

So little the difference between man and man,
Woman included ‘cause she’s the better half,
The splendour of the sun responsible for
Me carrying the ‘brown’ skin on its behalf.

So, what’s the colours hullabaloo all about?
Does each tree look as green as the other?
There are roses, I’m told, that carry no scent
And, different too, are the birds of a feather.

If, we were immortal, supremacy might matter,
But, given that we are just little specks of dust,
In regalia or in tatter,

We are one
And anything else
Just plain chatter.
One man, One woman
And that is all.

(Ashok Sawhny is a prolific poet who has over 45 poetry books to his credit. He can be reached at ashoksawhny06.poems@gmail.com)

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